


Christmas, 1745

by Eggling



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (1963)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Season 6B
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-02
Updated: 2017-05-02
Packaged: 2018-10-26 22:32:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10796088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eggling/pseuds/Eggling
Summary: Two can't resist the temptation to see Jamie again.





	Christmas, 1745

The snow-dusted streets of Glasgow seemed all but abandoned, windows closed and curtains drawn, shop fronts boarded up, a few doors broken down. The Doctor shuddered at the scene, feeling the fear of those hidden inside their houses, but gritted his teeth and continued onwards. Even if he was faced with the threat of swords levelled at his throat or guns at his chest, he could hardly turn away now. Not when he was so close. The TARDIS scanner had told him that the spot was just nearby, and he had been working on its accuracy for months. This had to work. If it did not…

A flicker of movement made his breath catch in his throat as he rounded a corner. Much of the snow in the open square had been melted by a large bonfire, surrounded by men warming their hands. Their chatter would have been mostly incomprehensible without the TARDIS’ translation matrix, even if the Doctor had been close enough to make out the words, their language still unfamiliar despite the few words he had picked up over those precious three years. And at the edge of the square closest to him, shoulders hunched against the cold, rocking back and forth on his heels to ease the discomfort of new shoes -

“Jamie!”

The Doctor pressed himself back against a doorway when Jamie looked up at the sound of his name, squeezing his eyes shut and cursing his impulsiveness. In any other situation, he would have had more self-control, he was sure. But something about seeing Jamie again after all this time had made him feel as if the past few years working for the Time Lords had been a dream, as if Jamie would see him and his eyes would light up, and he would race over to spin him around and kiss him. But this was not his Jamie, not even the Jamie who had been returned to Culloden with his memories wiped. This Jamie would not know him for months.

Someone else approached Jamie – Alexander MacLaren, the Doctor thought. Jamie stumbled a bit at the heavy clap on the back, too lost in his own thoughts to have seen it coming, but his worried expression was quickly replaced by a smile, if a clearly faked one. Alexander held out Jamie’s pipes to him, seeming to urge him on, but Jamie shook his head, pushing them away. It was only then that the Doctor remembered what Jamie had once told him. Christmas, 1745. The so-called king of the pipers imprisoned, and no pipes to be played until his release. Imagining Jamie before Culloden was one thing, but seeing him, seeing the already growing shadows in his eyes, was quite another.

The timer on his watch chimed, a tiny, metallic bird singing out in the still night air, and the Doctor snapped to attention at the sound. He had quite forgotten that he had set a limit for how long he should stay – and for this very reason, he thought ruefully. He had known that, once there, he would be unable to tear himself away. But such was the price to pay for his desperate need to see Jamie safe, and the Time Lords’ ban on his interference in Jamie’s timeline. As he turned to leave, the Doctor caught a glimpse of Jamie out of the corner of his eye, turned towards the noise, fingers curling defensively around the handle of his dirk.

“Who’s there?” he called out, leaning out into the darkness as if reluctant to leave the safety of the firelight. “We’re all armed, ye ken.”

The Doctor’s heart clenched at the sound of Jamie’s voice, and he forced himself out of the doorway, down the street and away from Jamie. Footsteps sounded behind him, and he willed himself not to turn to look, not to risk meeting Jamie’s eyes. This was not the person he had lost. And yet, despite everything, this Jamie was still the person he loved.

Pausing at the end of the street, he allowed himself one last look over his shoulder, one last murmur into the darkness. Infinitely lonely, infinitely sad.

“Merry Christmas, Jamie.”


End file.
